


Urbna's 2018 Halloween Prompts

by HurricaneConnor



Category: Hat Films - Fandom, The Yogscast
Genre: Alcohol, Ghost Hunting, Ghosts, Halloween Prompts 2018, Hunting, Multi, Natural Aphrodisiac, References to Sex, Tags will be updated as I upload, Werewolves, drug mention, mention of alcohol consumption, mild violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-07
Updated: 2018-10-17
Packaged: 2019-07-27 21:09:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,441
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16227368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HurricaneConnor/pseuds/HurricaneConnor
Summary: Just me filling in Urbna's Halloween prompts ( https://urbna.tumblr.com/post/178528736118/halloween-prompt-list ), I probably won't do all of them and the prompts probably won't be posted on the right day, but if I get inspired then count me in for doing them!





	1. Day 1 - Ghost Hunting

**Author's Note:**

> 1 - Ghost hunters.  
> Warnings: Reference to drug use, drug terminology, use of a natural aphrodisiac, using dried flowers for getting high
> 
> Patchouli is a natural aphrodisiac that relaxes the body, I've never personally used it as such but I did some research on it - I do not condone the use of drugs
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

“I’ve been hearing sixties music at night since I got here, I thought it was my neighbours until I ended up asking the entire floor; as well as the ones above and below and got nothing but weird looks,” their latest client told them, leading them towards the room most prominent for the music. The kitchen.

It was rather small, not surprising in the single bedroom flat, a plate or so next to the sink and a forgotten mug of tea left on the fake marble counter top. Ross set down the metal case he’d carried up the stairs to the flat - of course the lift was broken, how generic - and looked around the room slowly with critical eyes. Smith passed him to set down his own case of equipment, switching the camera around his neck on and fiddling with the lens.

“And you immediately thought, ‘Ghost’? After two weeks?” The ginger quirked his brow at their client - his name was Leon or something, maybe Lewis? -, looking through the viewfinder to photograph each wall of the room to analyse later.

“Well, no,” Lewis said, looking rather flustered. “There’s cold patches all over the house despite the fact it’s summer, the light bulbs all down the hall keep blowing out and every time I leave my tea on the side-” Splinters of ceramic scattered across the floor, lukewarm tea splashing up the cabinets and pooling around the chunks of broken mug. The three men turned around to find the mess, none of them near enough to have caused it.

“Yeah, that keeps happening.”

Ross’ gaze locked on the counter where the mug once was, focusing on blocking out the white noise coming in from the open window and the conversation going on next to him. He focused until he could see a glimmer that he recognised as a spirit, a faint pale haze slightly changing the colour of the teabag and sugar tins behind it.

“We’ll sort it mate, no worries.”  
-  
Once it was dark, their cameras and crystals were set up and a chalk line was drawn on the wall around the entire room to contain the spirit, they were ready. Ross had given Lee(?) a simple pendant made of moon-water soaked string and a stone engraved with a protection sigil in case the spirit decided it didn’t want to talk, and told him to stay outside of the kitchen until they said it was clear.

That was when they started.

“I saw you earlier, you don’t have to hide from me,” Ross called out, channelling his sight of the spirit earlier into the crystal pendant around his neck, watching as it glowed slightly before dimming. The two waited silently, almost holding their breath until all the crystals flickered to life with a synchronised hum.

A faint figure came into comprehensible view at the doorway, nothing identifiable as of yet except that the spirit was a male and had a very bright shirt on. It turned towards the two and tilted it’s head sideways, appearing to say something if the way its head slowly tore in two was a sign of that; the silky form reluctantly separating and looking very much akin to smoke spiralling apart.

“Smith, the moon-water.”

He poured some from a corked glass bottle into a gleaming wine glass, slowly offering it forwards towards the spirit with a friendly smile.

“Come on mate, we aren’t gonna banish you,” his soft tone seemed to help as the spirit reached forwards, taking the glass and peering inside. It seemingly poured the hole glass into its torn open head, but as the liquid started to spread throughout it from inside its body, its form started to take shape and it became apparent that it was pouring the blessed water into its mouth.

A tall man with receding oak brown hair stood before them, thin lips and a broad nose, his face and neck decorated liberally with dark facial hair; and he had the audacity to be dressed in flared jeans, a disgracefully garish button-up smattered with tropical fish and heavily scuffed canvas shoes. The worst part, was that he was still ridiculously attractive.

“You boys seem kitted for some scary shit, do all your crystals need sigils on ‘em?” It was obvious the second they could hear the spectre’s voice that he wasn’t British, somewhat surprising if this guy’s estimated time period was the sixties. Ross flushed somewhat at the real reason for the extra protection and was somewhat glad that Smith spoke before he did.

“Our business partner makes sure we’re prepared for anything, don’t want anyone getting hurt, now do we?” grinning, Smith hoisted himself up onto the counter, getting comfortable for what felt likely to be a long talk. The spirit came further into the room, handing the glass to Ross with a scrutinous look.

“And hey, how’d you see me, punk?” the man in question looked up at the spirit and smiled bashfully.

“Always been able to, wasn’t ‘til I met Tr- our business partner that I knew what it was.” Ross hid behind his camera and took a photo of the spirit, the crystal piece used for a viewfinder allowing for the spirit to appear in the photos. “Anyway, it’s nice to meet you. I’m Ross and this is Smith.”

“People always called me Sips,” the spirit batted his hand at the camera aimed at him and came to be laying on the counter next to Smith, hands behind his head and a leg crossed over his knee; looking the definition of relaxed. “Y’gonna ask dumb shit about how I died aren’t you?”

Ross put the camera down after taking another photo of the ghost, sitting himself in the centre of the circle of crystals to ensure the connection continued. He took out a small notebook and started to write down what he could identify about Sips and his form, a clear pointer to Smith to do the talking.

“Not if you don’t want us to mate, more curious about the sixties music annoying your roommate,” the ginger turned slightly to be facing the ghost, then noticing the milky look of his eyes and the dark mottled bruises marring the insides on his arms.

“It’s alright, it’s not like I’m gonna get offended. I’m dead, ‘boo-hoo’, how sad, time to spend eternity whinin’ about it,” he snorted at his own sarcasm, looking up at Smith with a cheeky lopsided grin. His form rippled slightly when he yawned, an inky smoke-like substance drifting out his mouth until the yawn stopped and it was seemingly reabsorbed into his body.

“Well then, how’d you kick it?”

“I was a drug addict, was doing some hot knives with this new shit a friend had given me on the stove and I guess when I woke up I was on the ceiling lookin’ at my dead body.”  
It wasn’t exactly rare to be speaking to a spirit that had died of an overdose or a substance cocktail gone wrong, but it had been a while since their last encounter. Ross diligently wrote down Sips’ cause of death into his notebook and started thinking of ways to remove the bond he had to the room he died in.

“Looks like you did more than just hot knives,” he piped up from his place in the glowing circle, not looking up towards the two but pausing in his writing. Sips snorted and nodded at the allegation.

“Anything I could get my hands on, I was using it.”

He seemed somewhat ashamed of that, his smile looking terse in comparison to his earlier one as he rubbed at his inner elbow, right where the livid bruises resided. His inkily clouded eyes were also evidence of his addiction taking him to his grave.

Smith stood suddenly and started rummaging in his rucksack, drawing both Ross and Sips’ eyes to him, perhaps more focus on his ass than what he was doing though. He took out a candle, a lighter, a small pouch of dried patchouli petals and a knife, raising Ross’ eyebrows and confusing both of the men looking at him.

“Maybe we could heat the knife and burn the patchouli as a kind of, one last hurrah? It might be what’s holding him here, he didn’t get to finish his high.” Sips looked a bit sceptical but shrugged as if he was willing to try, Ross nodded once the words had processed in his head with a smile so the ginger got to work, ushering him out of the crystal circle to place and light the candle.

With the candle flickering in time with the crystals, Smith crumbled the dried petals onto the knife, before holding it above the candle to slowly heat it. It didn’t take long for the smell of patchouli to fill the room, slowly lulling the three into a state of dulled senses and relaxed muscles; Sips had rolled over to lay on the floor next to the two living beings, Ross blinking slowly and leaning against Smith’s shoulder for support of his lax body.

“I have no one to leave this realm for,” Sips’ stated sombrely, his eyes focused on the wildly dancing candle flame, disturbed by his presence. Ross looked down from his blatant staring at Smith to catch the spirit’s eyes, frowning at the thought of leaving this realm lonely just to continue being alone.

“You could come with us?” He offered, hardly thinking about what Trott would say or the way his face would curve downwards into a harsh frown as he spoke about the dangers of having a spirit with them when they needed to exorcise one from somewhere.

Sips seemed to considerate for the long couple minutes they sat in comfortable silence before nodding. It was apparent that this guy had died at a point in his life where he was without much to live for as it was, his death not phasing him at all, as well as having no family or friends in the realm of the dead waiting for him. Ross didn’t particularly want to send him off to spend forever alone, especially when he knew exactly what it was like feeling the crushing pressure of loneliness.

“Brilliant, I’ll tell Lewis that we’ve sorted his ghost problem.”

“I thought his name was Lucas?”

“You must be older than we thought.”

-

“Thank you so much, I was starting to worry it’d start breaking my good mugs,” Lewis smiled, shaking Ross’ hand vigorously before his face dropped and he turned to Smith. “It smells like someone smoked up my kitchen.”

“Sorry, it took a lot of different ingredients to banish the guy. But yeah, your mug fiend is gone,” He laughed at the second part, eyes flicking to Sips trying to knock a mug off the coffee table and Ross catching it with a glare before focusing back on their client. “It’s been a pleasure Lewis.”

“No offence but I hope I don’t need to call you again,” they all chuckled and nodded in reply, saying a quick goodbye before starting to make their way to the ground floor. Sips whistled a tune that neither of the young men recognised as he floated alongside them.

“I knew it began with an ‘L’.” Sips said quietly, almost to himself. Smith burst out laughing as Ross sighed somewhat resigned.


	2. Casting A Spell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here we are, multiple days late but hey I did it! Ross is a werewolf in an institute that helps fledgling shapeshifters become accustomed to their new behaviours and appendages and also allows them to integrate into human society without fearing becoming a danger to public safety.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Mention of blood, mentions of eating someone, mentions of killing, mild violence
> 
> I realised while writing this it also fits under the transformation prompt of day 11 but decided to keep it under casting a spell as I felt this fic focused more on the spells than the transformation.
> 
> Enjoy!

Broken china crunched under foot, splinters of wood and shattered glass also decorating the floor of the hall. It trailed further, leading to a door torn off its hinges with sheer brute strength; that of a fledgling werewolf, in which Shapeshifter Rehabilitation Specialist, botanist and Doctor of Psychology Chris Trott was in charge of.

Ross thought he’d had a good morning. While he hadn’t slept well, he’d had a nice shower with this fancy soap that bubbled and fizzed all over his skin, his breakfast had consisted of a huge portion of somewhat under cooked sausage, bacon and sunny eggs and then he’d sat outside just scenting the air of all its wonderful smells; human musk, cut grass, assorted flowers and berries from the gardens, sweet and savoury pies baking in the kitchens and the lingering, varied smells of different people’s magic.

Then he took back what he thought very promptly. One of his Doctors decided he needed to have blood taken for some test or other which left him grumpy, then one of his nurses stood on a bright, eight legged beetle he’d been intently watching to inform him of his next session with his main Doctor, so by the time lunch came around, he was tetchy, to say the least.

He snapped at anyone asking who spoke to him, perhaps upsetting the lady that sometimes sat in the gardens with him who had been cursed to live half human-half ent; but in the moment, he didn’t care, his skin crawling with the need to growl and claw at anyone that came near him. But he’d been doing so well in his sessions, learning to control the animalistic behaviour and hold back with sudden shifts.

The last straw had been the person he spoke most with in the institute, another werewolf -like himself- who’d been here a year or so longer than him. Smith had sat with him as usual, starting to joke about the anger management session he’d just finished, then he’d turned to his usual snide humour. Normally, his jestial insults made Ross laugh, him joining in on most occasions. This time was different, as when Smith made a comment about the tired face he wore making him look old and decrepit, Ross let out a snarl and fur started sprouting up his arms.

Everyone turned towards the scene, Smith slowly getting up to back away as nurses and security circled the two and encouraged people to exit the cafeteria. A young man with runes and sigils covering his exposed skin took that very literally, his fight or flight response skewed immensely with the fact he was an elk so that he took off at breakneck speed, his hooves clattering against the tile as he bolted out of the room, hardly ducking in time to not catch his antlers on the doorframe.

Ross’ head snapped to follow him, the irises flickering yellow as his thick black pelt burst from his clammy skin. The sickening crunching of his bones realigning hurt the ears of onlookers almost as much as it hurt him to involuntarily turn, standing to his full, enormous height on his hind legs he snarled at the people trapping him, some taking out their wands and some pulling out syringes he knew to be filled with valerian root and opium extracts; strong enough to knock out a dragon.

Just as a nurse stepped forward to sedate him, he leaped forward, digging his claws into the thick body armour the guard wore, dodging restriction spells hurled at him as he tore after the scent of elk, blood, meat, **food**.

He hurtled down the corridor, scraping to a halt with his thick claws scratching the floor when he saw the young elk, his speech a mile a minute as he stressed his worry to a doctor just outside of said doctor’s office. Both turned at the screech of keratin on stone, his prey making a noise of terror before pushing the doctor away from him and taking off further into the building.

A starved howl erupted from him, his body jerking into action as he charged after his target, crushing furniture that got in his way as if it were glass and leaving claw marks in a trail as he hunted. Panting laboriously, he paused in his chase, standing to scent the air and listen.

His eyes darted to one of the closed doors, scuffling noises and the smell of fresh meat coming from the gap between the floor and the door; Ross chuffed to himself, pleased that he’d found his prey. Small tables holding vases full of flowers splintered and collapsed under his hulking form -standing up as he was meant he hardly fit in the compact corridors meant for the more skittish shapeshifters-, scattering shards of glass, wood and china across the floor which his thick paws ignored as he walked over them.

The locked door didn’t stand a chance against him, his claws digging deep into the wood before wrenching it out of its frame with the harsh creak of wood splitting and separating. Ducking into the room, he couldn’t see his prey. Scenting the air was useless due to the saturation of the elk’s smell in the room and the silence was only broken with his heavy huffs of breath, he would have to wait until the elk bolted again to catch it- bite it- tear it- **eat it**.

Patience wearing thin, he growled and stepped further into the room, tearing down a full bookcase to try and startle the elk into coming out; the broken wood frame and books scattering with the force. When that didn’t work, he threw the small chair and desk by the door towards the bed, both hitting the wall and seeming to shatter with the strength they were thrown with. He started to get angry in his inability to wait, practically roaring for his prey to move, run, bolt, flee, **die** -

The elk burst out of the closet next to the bed, wand in his quivering hand as he yelled a jinx at the top of his lungs, the spell knocking the huge beast back into a stand holding a small television, crushing the objects with his landing. Ross was winded from the sudden blow but stood nonetheless, maw dripping with saliva in anticipation of his meal as he stalked towards the elk, cornering him between his bed and the wall.

As he was about to start tearing into his food, the elk yelled another spell that hit Ross directly in the chest. He huffed in surprise, the force making him step back slightly, his muscles feeling lethargic and his head heavy. At the sight of the wolf still standing, the man shouted the spell repeatedly, directing it straight into his unprotected chest.

With each hit, Ross let out a pitiful whine, his eyes rolling in his skull as he tried to dodge the spells with no success. His limbs sagged until he collapsed, body unresponsive to his brains commands as the elk leapt over him and darted out the empty doorframe.

His eyes closed, head howling for him to get up, _feed- feed- feed_ repeated as a mantra. One last sad whine, and he was asleep.

A flick of his wand and the broken pieces started reforming into what they resembled before Ross’ unfortunate rampage, everything settling back into place as if nothing had happened. Trott nodded to himself in satisfaction before entering the room the wolf slept in through the replaced door, carefully shutting it behind him before stepping towards the mass of black fur.

Another one of his patients, Harry, had come to him in an immense state of fear, stumbling over himself as he warned him that someone had shifted and tried to eat him. As soon as the man had mentioned a massive black wolf, Trott knew immediately it was Ross that had torn through the building and almost attacked the young elk.

He sat down next to the wolf’s snoring form, gently placing his hand on his head and carding his fingers through the thick jet fur. Slowly, Ross came to, huffing as he became aware of the presence next to him and growling as a threat.

“Come on Ross, today’s had enough action, hmm?” The wolf sagged at his words, now in a state to be aware of himself and his actions, he was ashamed, embarrassed, ready to hide in his room for the next month. A sad whine was his response.

“It wasn’t your fault, I’ve told the faculty to be more cautious around things that might aggravate you. I’m sorry I failed you in that respect,” scratching his neatly trimmed beard, Trott smiled at the fledgling shapeshifter. Reaching into his apron pocket, he took out his wand, repairing the room with a simple flick.

Ross watched as his destruction was rebuilt, leaving the room spotless, perhaps cleaner than it was before if the clothes landing in the laundry basket were anything to go off of. He tilted his head slightly.

“Simple repairing spell, Ross, perhaps I could try and teach it to you. I understand that werewolves’ magic is dulled, but I’m sure I can you could get the hang of it with practice. Rather useful,” Trott’s voice was welcoming, eyes wise with his years of research and decades of living despite how youthful he looked. His presence itself was relaxing; Ross also appreciated his looks but he wasn’t going to disclose that any time soon.

“Come on, let’s see if we can get you back into your human form. I hear you’ve been improving with your progress in shifting.” He stood, pocketing his wand and offering a hand to help the wolf up which they both knew was a kindness and not a necessity. Ross took it anyway, standing slowly before following the Doctor out into the hall and towards his office.


	3. "Don't Tell Me We're Wearing Matching Costumes AGAIN!"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When I read this prompt I immediately thought of banana boys.  
> Surprisingly I've managed to keep in order, can't promise that'll stick though!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings - Mentions of alcohol consumption, mentions of sex
> 
> Minx Trott is a babe, I hope he got absolutely reamed by those boys after that party.
> 
> Thanks to my partner for helping me word one of the paragraphs in this one, I just couldn't get it to sound right and he did a few seconds after reading what I'd tried to explain. Love you babe! <3
> 
> Please enjoy!

Trott had thought it was a funny throwback to one of their skits a few years back; dressed in the bright yellow banana costume. He’d found it at the back of his wardrobe about a month ago while looking for one of his favourite t-shirts that had gone missing - it later turned out that Smith had it, which didn’t make much sense seeing as it definitely didn’t fit him -, the memories of that night fond in his mind.

He checked his hair one last time in the mirror and made sure his stalk was up properly before making his way to the kitchen, knowing that they were due to leave for the office Halloween party any minute now to arrive on time. Though thinking about it, he was sure Smith would manage to lose something, as usual, and they’d have to upturn the flat to find it before they left. Ross was humming along to something on the radio, confirming Trott’s suspicions that Smith wasn’t ready yet despite them needing to leave soon.

“You have the drinks we’re taking right, Ross?” He called down the hall, checking his wallet for his card and spare cash, only looking up when he reached the doorway to the kitchen. Almost immediately he burst into laughter; “Are you  _ fucking  _ serious?”

There stood at the counter putting bottles of spirits into his backpack, was Ross, clad in another bright yellow banana costume. The taller of the two let out an awkward chuckle as he took in Trott doubled over laughing at their predicament.

“How the fuck have we managed this? At least last time we planned it,” Ross sighed and put his head in his hands, yes, he found it funny, but it would be embarrassing explaining to everyone that asked ‘No, it was an accident’; the hive mind jokes would probably make a resurgence.

Trott hardly heard Smith’s bedroom door open and his loud footfalls coming closer to the kitchen, he practically jumped out of his skin when he heard a shocked huff from behind him.

“Are you genuinely wearing the same dumb costume as me, Trott?”

The man in question guffawed and slumped against the door frame in his laughter; Ross gave Smith a smile and a wave, body shuddering with withheld laughter as the ginger’s eyes narrowed even further..

“We didn’t even plan this!” He yelled, throwing his hands in the air with an exasperated yell of faux frustration. “Did you guys forget to get something too?”

“No, I genuinely wanted to wear it,” Ross laughed, turning to put the last two bottles in the rucksack.

He wasn’t lying; he really did want to wear it, mostly as a weirdly sentimental gesture to the sketch they had made a few years ago. Although, it was more of a commemoration to what happened after they filmed it; the drinks made them tipsy enough to say things they usually wouldn’t, for the sake of keeping their friendship strictly platonic. The things they said didn’t amount to anything though, and they kept Ross awake for weeks after that Halloween. He would never admit it outright and unprompted, but he hoped, to himself, that perhaps they could continue those talks sooner. He thought the costume would spur it on. 

After Trott regained his composure, he voiced why he’d chosen the costume.

“I thought it would be fun to remind you two of that sketch we did with Turps, it was a good night.”

Again, he didn’t mention  _ his  _ longing for the drunk confessions to actually occur this time, his confidence and self esteem were both way higher since that night where he’d walked away in fear of rejection.

Both turned to Smith, smiling at the humour of the moment with fond looks in their eyes. Despite his heart skipping a beat in his chest at the gazes they gave him, he said nothing.

“Well fuck, no time to change now,” his laughter seemed tight, but he shook it off with a cough, grabbing the keys off the hook by the door and gesturing for the other two to leave first after he’d heard their taxi driver honk outside.

Trott didn’t like how awkward everything suddenly was, all three of them silent with absent expressions as they got into their hired taxi, the whole time they drove to the office and as they left the car and entered the building. He decided it was now or never to mention something as they stood in the lift, slowly climbing the floors towards the party.

“Well, if history repeats itself tonight, I’ll be very happy that I chose to be a sentimental twat in wearing this stupid phallus of a costume,” he chuckled over his shoulder at the two, his grin widening at the shock on their faces as they realised what he’d meant. Smith went to say something, but the lift reaching their designated floor interrupted him, the two taller men left to watch a wonderfully handsome, grinning, Chris Trott drifting off to mingle. The wink he sent their way before disappearing into the crowd made their knees weak, looking at each other with twin looks of lust and awe.

Perhaps their banter at the party seemed heavy on the flirting in accordance to other party goers, but it only got worse when they got home and under the sheets.


End file.
